


That time he couldn't speak the language

by newrelics



Series: That time they went on holiday [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Language Barrier, Lazar - Freeform, Lazar x Pallas, Lazar/Pallas - Freeform, M/M, Pallas - Freeform, Summer, Summer Vacation, an emoji can help you find a boyfriend, dorks falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrelics/pseuds/newrelics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazar is a working man, a busy man, so he goes on vacation and meets a pretty boy. </p><p>He fumbled, patting his pockets, then finally pulled out a piece of paper. He came prepared. He came with all the useful phrases written down. He looked at the paper, then back at the man with soft curls and olive skin and deep, brown eyes and hesitated. No, no, he was under no circumstances nervous. He was unsure of his language skills. That was the only explanation he was willing to accept. So he did the only logical thing he could think of. </p><p>He whistled at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That time he couldn't speak the language

It was an excruciating hot day in a country with an excruciating hard language. The hotel was exquisite, pompous and full of smiling people with olive skin and pretty eyes. Lazar had been opposed to this, saying that he could just book a room in a motel and spend his days in his own country, drinking boxed wine while watching _Big Giant Swords_ on Discovery. It would’ve been the perfect vacation, a combination of sitting in boxers on a massage chair with a fan blowing in his face and maybe some Tinder time. But his friends forced him to: _Go_ , they said, _You might meet someone cute_ , they said _Stop being an asshole and do it_. And there he was, dragging luggage behind him towards the reception, sweating and wondering if the cab driver charged him extra. At least they had AC.

 

The receptionist was young, he noted. He thought he was younger than him. He was almost sure of it. Well, as sure as a man who was dying of dehydration could be. Lazar walked in front of the receptionist and watched his smile like he had seen the most adorable kitty. Lazar preferred when people smiled at him like they had seen an attractive man, not a cat playing with an oversized yarn ball. He looked at the black name tag and read the golden, cursive letters. _Pallas_  
Pallas talked and Lazar stared.

“No, no, wait.” He said, the foreign language heavy in his mouth.

He fumbled, patting his pockets, then finally pulled out a piece of paper. He came prepared. He came with all the useful phrases written down. He looked at the paper, then back at the man with soft curls and olive skin and deep, brown eyes and hesitated. No, no, he was under no circumstances nervous. He was unsure of his language skills. That was the only explanation he was willing to accept. So he did the only logical thing he could think of.

He whistled at him.

Pallas head tilted slightly to a side, big eyes looking at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

Marvelous.

“Reservation?” Pallas tried saying, in Lazar’s language. His words were a tad bit harsh, his accent dragging out the vowels in odd places.

Lazar nodded.

“Name?” He asked, carefully, slowly, looking at Lazar’s face for any indication of failure.

“Ughm. Yes. Name.” He said. “Yes. The reservation is under Lazar R.” He said and watched Pallas squinting in concentration. He realized he spoke too quickly. “Lazar.” He said again and placed the piece of paper on the counter, then grabbed a pen a wrote his name on it, then turned it towards Pallas.

Pallas grabbed it, read it, nodded and checked the computer with the efficiency one would expect from a five stars hotel employee.

“Room 419.” He said, looking at him. Pallas did not know numbers in French. He picked the pen back up, and wrote the number on the paper. “Floor…” He started and wrote down 3.

 

Lazar looked at him, at his crisp, black uniform, at his name tag, at the name, back at his smiling face, wondering how many jackasses whistled at him. Pallas was patiently waiting. He tried imagining him in something else than a uniform. Maybe jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe a tank top and shorts. Maybe boxers. Maybe….

“Sir?” Pallas raised a brow, his brown eyes looking at him with the same amusement as before and Lazar felt like a cat video on YouTube.

He was happy that the hotel had Wi-Fi. He was happy that technology was advanced enough for him to be able to find a suitable bed partner with a simple swipe of his finger. He should get his head out of the gutter, it wasn’t that easy to flirt with a guy who could barely speak his language. And he had whistled at him. _Whistled!_

“Yes. Thank you.” He said and grabbed his luggage. Lazar dragged it towards the elevator. He pressed the 3rd floor button and waited. He told himself he was just having a bad day, usually he had a bit more charm than this. Usually, he could open up a conversation with a joke, a compliment. Today it was too hot. That was the problem, the heat.

 

He slept. The bed had the most wonderful sheets, soft as sin and porcelain white. He slept with the windows opened, enjoying the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea. Maybe this year he wasn’t going to end up with a sunburn on his back.

 

***

Pallas was sitting on a chair. The reception was empty so he took the time to be productive. He span in his chair, humming that song from Frozen. He was thinking about going out for a run on the beach that evening. Running on sand barefoot, feeling the waves caressing his skin with each crushed wave while listening to Madonna seemed perfectly agreeable.

 

He took out his phone to check for some messages and, in the spur of the moment, tapped on Tinder. He swiped, still spinning in his chair, until a familiar face came up.

 

Pallas looked at it. Pallas squinted at it. Pallas read the name and fell off the chair.

“The whistle guy!” He swiped right.

 

***

Lazar woke up. It was cooler now, the dread of the sun was lost, swollen by the evening. He could hear the waves crashing on the shore and some distressed seagull who was probably hungry. It was relaxing, like that app he had on the phone. He stretched, limbs tangled in the sheets and sighed. It was probably dinner time and the hotel restaurant looked decent enough. He rolled out of bed and walked towards the window to have a better look at the beach. It was almost empty now, with the exception of some couples and families who were still building castles and talking. And one jogger. Lazar squinted and leaned forward, holding the window frames with both his hand. The jogger looked an awful lot like the receptionist, but he couldn’t be sure. He was far away, the only thing he could clearly make out was that the man had no shirt on.

Lazar whistled. The jogger stopped and he could tell that he was confused by the way he turned around, looking for whoever it was that whistled at him. Lazar chuckled and held his head on his palm, resting his elbow on the window frame. You’re only an asshole if people know it’s you.

 

He got dressed casually, he wasn’t about to kill himself trying to impress the other tourists. The table was adequate. He knew someone who liked using that word and it seemed proper. He sat and looked through the menu. Lazar found himself forever grateful to technology and google translate. His language skills were horrific and he found himself wondering how he finished high school.

After he placed the order, Lazar took out his phone and, discretely, touched the Tinder icon. _Swipe, swipe, swipe_. Too old, too far away, too young, too jock-ish, too preppy, too many people in a picture, this guy has a horse mask on… and then he stopped, frowning.  
He read the name. _Pallas_ That was the only thing he could make out from the whole profile. Pallas. Pallas was smiling, bright and happy and damn those shoulders and arms. His eyes were cherry wood and perfectly aged whiskey. Lazar looked at him, his finger lingering above the screen.

 _Oh, what the hell…_ Lazar swiped right.

It took a moment, then he chocked. It read. _You and Pallas have liked each other._  
Now he was glaring at his phone. Send a message? Keep swiping? Lazar went we the same coherent train of thought that had pushed him in that position. _Oh, what the hell…_

He didn’t know what he could send to someone who couldn’t speak his language. And using Google Translate seemed like a sure way to miscommunication. Then he smiled. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for the invention of emoji. He went through the list, through the abundance of smiley faces, crying faces, foods and flags and other things nobody used. He picked the martini glass. Then deleted it and tapped on the beer one. Yes. Better. Next to it, he typed _9:00 AM ?_

And he waited. He waited while eating. He waited while staring at his stake. He waited while calculating the waiter’s tip. He waited while he made his way back to his room. When he was almost done waiting his phone buzzed. It was a row of five thumbs up emoji. A moment later his phone buzzed again.

_I pick you from room. You wait. _Lazar laughed.__

__

__When Pallas knocked at the door, Lazar checked his breath and opened it. He was feeling silly, it was a sensation of uneasiness and excitement that was dancing in his body, curling around his ribs and piercing his chest. Pallas smiled. That smiled could bring cities to ruin, Lazar thought, then reminded himself this was his first date with a guy who he didn’t know. He had to be, as the young people would put it, _chill_. Not that he wasn’t young. Of course he was. Young and hip. _ _

__“Hello.” Lazar said, looking at him._ _

__“Hi.” Pallas answered. He looked in his phone and typed something, then turned it towards Lazar._ _

__“Google translate.” Lazar laughed and read the message _Where to go?__ _

__“Ughm…Beach?” He asked, hoping that the other knew the word._ _

__“Yes. Beach.” Pallas nodded._ _

__It was a brilliant night. It was a novel like night, painted in deep blue ink. The sea was dark, a beast-like creature made of water that slept; slept and breathed waves and cool breeze. Lazar took off his shoes and walked next to the water. It was cold against his warm skin. Pallas was next to him, picking up seashells, shooting small glances and smiles every now and then. They were like little secrets that Lazar had to catch._ _

__“Sit?” Pallas asked, his hand gesturing towards the sand. Lazar nodded._ _

__Lazar closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax, to enjoy, to let the moment breathe inside him so he wouldn’t forget it._ _

__Pallas took his hand and Lazar tensed and turned his head towards him. It was a simple gesture, an innocent skin on skin contact, but he flushed._ _

__“No?” Pallas tilted his head and Lazar felt his intention, felt the flinch, the possibility that he might pull his hand away._ _

__“No. I mean yes.”_ _

__Pallas raised his dark eyebrows and looked at him with his dark cherry wood eyes. He didn’t get it, so Lazar held his hand in return. “Yes.” He nodded._ _

__“I feel like I know you.” Lazar said and Pallas listened. He didn’t understand, but that was alright. “From another life.”_ _

__Pallas moved closer and leaned his head on Lazar’s shoulder. The sea was infinite in front of them. Lazar wasn’t dreading his vacation anymore._ _

__“Kiss?” He heard Pallas say, and the word fell full from his mouth, heavy with his accent and Lazar wanted to hear him speak more. He nodded and Pallas pressed his lips against his, sweet and flustered. Lazar cupped his cheek and wondered if his stubble was scratchy._ _

__“You are very pretty.” Lazar said. “I mean, not like… pretty as a girl. Pretty as in... as in attractive. As a man.”_ _

__Pallas raised an eyebrow and pecked his lips again._ _

__“Pretty?” He chuckled. He knew that word._ _

__Lazar smiled._ _

__

__The week ended sooner than he had expected. Seven days of subtle flirting while Pallas was at work and not so subtle after his hours came to an end; seven days of feeling like he was reliving his first crush, filled with hand in hand walks on the beach, lazy kisses, horrible grammar and dreamy, whiskey colored eyes.  
He fell in love with Pallas’ eyes. They weren’t a piercing blue, or a shocking green, they were calm and gentle. They didn’t strike your heart, they melted their way into your soul._ _

__He walked towards the reception, dragging his luggage behind him. He had to give the key back._ _

__“Leave?” Pallas asked._ _

__“Yes.” Lazar sighed, wondering, for the hundred time, if he could prolong his stay._ _

__Pallas nodded and wrote something on a yellow sticky note. “Call.” He said. “Number.” He pointed at the paper and smiled. “Yes?”_ _

__“Certainly. Yes. Of course.” He took the note and hid it carefully in his wallet. “You have to visit me…. Come over. Visit.”_ _

__“Visit?”_ _

__Lazar touched his own chest. “Home.” He tapped his finger against it. “My home.”_ _

__“Yes! Visit.” He laughed and nodded._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you bunches for reading!!! <333 I hope you enjoyed it! If so, don't be shy and let me know, every comment makes my day <3  
> I'm planning on writing a second part to this. After all, Pallas needs to visit his new boyfriend <3 *cough* it might be steamy *cough*


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